


Never Give Up

by SkippySq



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippySq/pseuds/SkippySq
Summary: Webby would do anything to get Lena back, even if it meant being covered in scars and bruises. Weblena.





	Never Give Up

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror on the Sun Chaser, trying to figure out which of the many scrapes are new and need sterilizing. With all the scratches and bruises on you it’d probably be smart to just dunk yourself in a barrel of disinfectant at this point. Another hunt for answers ends in a dead end with no magical tome or grimoire to show for your effort. The temple had been such a promising lead too. It was once a meeting place for powerful figures in the occult society, and yet not one of them managed to leave anything behind. Sure, a spell book might have been asking a bit much, but even a receipt of any kind would have been appreciated.  

With a sigh you hold a washcloth under the facet and soak it in warm water. You wipe at the wounds covering your arms and hands, cleaning off both dried and fresh blood and a few layers of dirt. Eventually you start to see the white of your feathers returning. It doesn’t make you look pristine, but you’ll at least look somewhat decent if you run into Granny at the manor before you can reach one of the showers.

You become aware of a warm, gooey sensation on your hand and glance down. A long crimson trail is ending at the tip of your fingertip. You trace it up the side of your arm and notice a particularly deep cut on the back of your bicep. Where did that come from? Probably one of the many arrows that was pointed in your direction. If that was the case this could have been a lot worse than a small graze. You grab the washcloth once more, now cold, and press it firmly against the wound. You get a good look at it in between wiping off the blood and realize it’s a deep cut, an odd one too. It looked like the arrow tip got a couple inches into your arm before stopping, as if it didn’t want to hit anything major. You either had an unbelievable amount of luck or a guardian angel watching over you.

It’ll need a few stitches, and will certainly leave a scar under your feathers. Luckily Scrooge always kept the plane well stocked with medical supplies, including disinfectants and dissolvable stitches. You’ll fix it up before landing in Duckberg, and with luck any proof of just how close you came to serious injuries would be gone before anyone else could find out. How many more times can you get away with this? Talking Launchpad into taking you on these dangerous adventures on your own? Returning home at any odd hour with new scars and nothing to show for it? Coming up with lies and excuses about why you keep disappearing, legend this and myth that? If you had to guess you could probably count the number of times you had left to get away with all this on one hand before granny puts her foot down. 

But would that stop you at this point?

You hate the thought of going against her wishes, especially with how understanding she’s been about all the changes you’ve gone through over the past year, but you couldn’t stop. Stopping meant you were giving up, and you could never give up on her, the girl you called your best friend. You’d hate yourself every time you glanced at the bracelet hanging on your wrist, or every time you’d see her face smiling at you from the photo on your nightstand, or whenever the thought of her crossed your mind.

You know she isn’t gone, despite what the others say. You can still feel her hanging close by when your alone at night, your bracelet pulsing like the beat of a heart. Somehow she was able to best Magica, and somewhere in this large world was some book or item or spell that could bring her back from wherever she was trapped. You tell yourself you can find it if you just keep going, pushing yourself harder and harder for an answer you’re a little scared might not exist. But you will keep going, even if it means dripping ever last ounce of blood you had into the sink of this airplane.

_ “Webby no,”  _ you hear whispered in your ear. You recognize the voice as Lena’s and for the briefest moment you can feel her standing beside you, until it comes crashing back in a painful wave. It’s not the first time since she vanished that you swear you hear her voice, and at this point your teetering between believing it’s really her voice or that you might be going insane from exhaustion. Either way it hurts more than any of the scrapes and bruises you’ve collected, hurts enough to make your eyes water with the threat of tears. You take in large breaths over and over, until you get a grip on yourself. 

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by a voice you are certain is real. “You ok in there kid?” Launchpad asked. You realize you’ve been in the bathroom for almost an entire half hour by now, wiping at blood and dirt while lost in thought. 

“Yeah, I’m fine Launchpad.” You answer, feigning a flawless chipper tone. You’ve gotten great at faking happiness over the past year, to the point where you can almost fool yourself. You’d walk out of the bathroom right now with a convincing smile if it weren’t for your arm dripping blood and in need of stitches. “Shouldn’t you be flying the plane?” you ask, hoping it’ll provide him a distraction. 

“Nah, I got it on autopilot right now.” He replies.

“You fixed that?” 

“Oh nope, forgot! That’s probably why she’s so off course!” His voice grows a bit distant and you’re certain you’ve bought yourself some time. You open the first-aid kit attached to the wall and dig out the hydrogen peroxide. You unscrew the cap and hold your arm over the sink, biting your tongue firmly as you prepare for the burning sting. It helps suppress a yelp of pain as the disinfectant runs over the wound and down your arm. You put pressure on the wound with the washcloth and let it dry, fishing out stitches from the box. You’ve had plenty of practice stitching up wounds over the years, both on yourself and others. You sit down on the closed toilet seat and begin sewing yourself up, letting your mind wander as you do.

The day’s adventure was a bust. The magical book, tome, or grimoire rumored to be held within the temple on this island either didn’t exist or had long been claimed by some other adventurer. Based on all the untouched traps you sprain and valuables you had no interest in, you suspect it’s the former. It was hard to not let this defeat demotivate you, but you pushed through and considered your next option carefully. You still had a few more leads you could chase, so it wasn’t a complete dead end yet, and that had to count for something.

As much as you hated admitting it, you had to take a day to rest. Your body was slow and sluggish, your mind even more so. At this rate the next arrow shot in your direction would go through much worse than an arm. You’d use tomorrow to go over the remaining locations you’d research, let your wounds heal a bit, and jump back in rested and ready for more. And you’ll keep going until you can wrap your arms around Lena again, and tell her the feelings you are finally starting to understand you have for her. You can vividly recall the moment Huey sat you down after the Magica incident to make sure you were ok. You weren’t, of course, but you expertly pretended to be. 

_ I know you had a crush on her and just wanted to make sure you were alright.  _ He had said, and that was when you realized he was right, you did have a crush on her. You didn’t know it until that moment, mistaking feelings of romance for ones of friendship. In your defense you were just starting to learn what friendship was, you didn’t expect a crush to follow so soon after. You asked around the manor after that and learned you were the only one that hadn’t known your true feelings for Lena. Even Launchpad had picked up on it somewhere along the way.

Did Lena know before she was blasted into supposed nothingness? Had she picked up on your unknown obviousness or was she as clueless as you were? Those questions had stayed with you the past month, always hiding in the back of your mind begging to be answered. Every duck in the manor knew how you felt but no one could tell you what Lena’s feelings were. You’ll ask her when you get her back though, and if she did reciprocate your emotions it’d be wonderful, but even if she didn’t you’d still be happy. All that mattered was having her back in your life, getting the chance to wrap her in a hug and never let her go. 

You finished stitching and examine your handiwork, wishing everything was as easy as this. You’ll do like you said and take a day to rest at the manor, eat an actual meal and try to get some decent sleep before jumping back in. You had a few leads you needed to research anyway, like a well-known sorceress who had disappeared with her wife and kids a few years back in the northern part of Europe. It was a lead, but one that needed narrowed down before whisking off with the Sun Chaser once again.   

You rub at the temple of your forehead and sigh, knowing the second you leave this bathroom you’ll have to resume your cheerful charade. You take one last look at your arm before pulling the sleeve down, a new scar to join the collection. It didn’t matter how many scars you got, how many wounds you’d have to stitch or leads you’d have to chase, you weren’t going to give up.

You’ll never give up, not until your arms are wrapped around her, even if it was with broken bones and bleeding wounds. She was worth anything and everything, and that’s gonna be the first thing you tell her.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in 2nd perspective, let me know if there are any errors. Also I know very little about stitching up a wound so forgive me if I got that wrong.


End file.
